


There'd Been A Time...

by A_Fallen_Sister



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Canon Related, Character Development, Character Study, Episode Related, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Magic Revealed, Outdoor Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-12
Updated: 2011-03-12
Packaged: 2017-10-16 21:55:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fallen_Sister/pseuds/A_Fallen_Sister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of coda ficlets for 1x10.  On the way back to Camelot, Arthur begins to see all the ways that Merlin has challenged his concept of what the relationship between a servant and his master should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There'd Been A Time...

~~ 1 ~~

There’d been a time when Arthur, like his father, held grudges with an unyielding persistence. If Arthur felt he’d been wronged, no reconciliation was possible unless the other party was agreeable to groveling in abject subjugation.

 _“You shouldn’t have kept this from me, Merlin,”_ Arthur had said, but even as the words had left his mouth, quietly spoken and without heat, Arthur had known that he’d already forgiven Merlin.

He looked at Merlin now, watched him stare into the fire with a look of such grief on his face; grief and something more that troubled Arthur for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, made him more bothered than a prince should be on behalf of a servant. Merlin looked completely dejected and there was an air of weary resignation about him, but mostly, Arthur thought, he looked lonely. He looked utterly _alone_ , as if he were the last man on earth, despite Arthur sitting right beside him. Arthur had never seen Merlin like this – it wasn’t at all Merlin’s usual countenance – and he realized that it wasn’t an apology he wanted from Merlin, but a smile.

~~ 2 ~~

There’d been a time when Arthur had accepted a servant’s ministrations as his God-given right as the Prince of Camelot. As he’d told Morgana, _“If you don’t have a dog, you fetch the stick yourself,”_ and he’d always, from his earliest memories, had a ‘dog’ to fetch for him, to dress him, wash him, and tend to his every need.

But when they’d prepared to face Kanan, Arthur had seen in Merlin a fierce determination, even in the face of his obvious fear, and it had struck Arthur that, in that moment, there was something noble, even knightly, about his servant. He’d stopped Merlin dressing him, had even helped dress Merlin himself, fastening the vambrace that Merlin’s trembling fingers struggled with, and he’d been rewarded with a look of great respect and warm affection. The only surprise in any of it had been the realization that he wanted Merlin to look at him that way all the time.

He watched Merlin now, sitting hunched in on himself in the coarse, threadbare shirt that he’d worn as he’d prepared Will’s body for the pyre. Arthur stood, moving to stand in front of Merlin. “We should change your shirt. You’ve blood on it.” Merlin looked down at the hem of his sleeves, a look of pained surprise on his face at seeing Will’s blood there.

“I don’t have another with me, sire.”

Arthur reached for his saddlebag, opened it and pulled out one of his own shirts. “I do.” He took the hem of Merlin’s shirt, murmured, “Raise your arms,” and pulled the stained garment gently over Merlin’s head. Their eyes met and held as Arthur tossed Merlin’s shirt into the fire. When Merlin started and made a fruitless grab for the shirt, Arthur caught his hand and said, “You can keep this one.” He slipped the fabric, soft and fine and tightly woven - a prince’s garment - over Merlin’s head, held the shirt as Merlin worked his arms through the sleeves, then smoothed the cloth over Merlin’s thin shoulders and down his chest, leaving the palm of his hand, pressed flat and hot and heavy, over Merlin’s heart. “There. It’s yours,” he said, and felt deeply satisfied when Merlin looked at him _that_ way again.

~~ 3 ~~

There’d been a time when Arthur would have balked at the idea of being intimate with a servant. He’d been taught that to press one’s attentions on someone who didn’t feel free to say ‘no’ if they wished, was an unfair advantage, and that the giving and taking of pleasure was best when offered freely, and between equals.

 _“Well, you’ve been terrible. Really, I mean it. The worst servant I’ve ever had,”_ Arthur had said that day on the bridge, and he smiled now, hand still resting warmly on Merlin’s chest, to think of how true that really was. Merlin _was_ an awful servant. He was impertinent, and brash, and often as inefficient as he was slow.

But he was also brave and selfless and trustworthy, and somewhere along the way, Arthur had begun to think of Merlin as something more than just a servant. Looking at Merlin now, Arthur realized that he’d begun to think of Merlin as a friend, a comrade even, not unlike his knights, really, and Arthur knew full well what knights could get up to in the dark of night, hidden away in tents after camp had been made and much ale had been consumed.

Sometimes it was about simple comfort. A cold, lonely night away from home and hearth was more bearable with the warm body of a friend pressed close. Sometimes it was out of necessity; a way to ease the fear and temporarily forget the horrors seen and experienced during battle. And sometimes, though it wasn’t spoken of in polite company, it was about the rare bond that occasionally sprang up between two knights, a bond so intense, so exclusive and all-consuming, that to deny themselves physical intimacy would be like denying themselves air; sometimes, it was about love.

Arthur looked into Merlin’s grief-stricken eyes and slid his hand up Merlin’s chest, up his neck, until his hand was cupping Merlin’s face. Tonight, Merlin needed comfort.

Pressing his fingertips into the hollow behind Merlin’s jaw, Arthur pulled Merlin closer until their foreheads touched and whispered, “If you want, I…,” but Merlin stopped Arthur’s words mid-sentence; tilted his head and leaned in and pressed his lips to Arthur’s. Given permission, Arthur took control. He slipped his hand into Merlin’s hair, his fingers curving to fit Merlin’s head, and pulled him even closer. When Merlin’s mouth opened at the first touch of Arthur’s tongue, Arthur murmured, “Yes,” and slid his tongue inside.

He kissed Merlin slowly and carefully, wrapped his other arm around Merlin’s waist and tugged him closer still until they were pressed together from head to toe. Arthur was hard inside his breeches and when his groin met Merlin’s and he realized that Merlin was in a similar state, all the air left his lungs in a shuddering huff of breath. He pulled back to look at Merlin’s face. Merlin’s lips were swollen and red, his hair mussed, but his eyes still held sorrow, as well as a sort of wild shock. Tonight, Arthur thought, Merlin needed to forget; forget what he’d seen; forget what he’d done.

Arthur glanced over to where Morgana and Gwen lay sleeping, on the other side of the fire, huddled together so deeply beneath their blankets that not even the tops of their heads were visible. He looked back to Merlin and tilted his head toward their own blankets, taking one of Merlin’s cold hands in his own warm one and squeezing, tugging gently until Merlin followed him to their makeshift bed.

Merlin toed off his shoes, leaving them beside their saddlebags and gear, before crawling between the fire-warmed layers of their pallet of blankets, and Arthur followed. By unspoken agreement, they settled on their sides facing each other rather than top-and-tail as they’d done every other night of the trip. In the dim light, Arthur could just make out Merlin looking at him, eyes calmer now, but questioning.

“Merlin, tonight,” Arthur said, quietly, “you’re not my servant.”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched, then turned up into a small smile. “Are you sacking me again, then?”

Arthur laughed softly. “No, you idiot. I’m not sacking you.” He shot Merlin a mischievous grin. “I’ve already got a list of chores for you to tend to straight away, when we get back to Camelot. I’ll need you to…,” Arthur paused to enjoy Merlin’s sudden, quiet laughter before continuing, “…when we get back, I need you to clean my boots and armor, then sharpen and clean my swords, and just generally try to make yourself useful again.” He grew more serious then, and reached up to touch Merlin’s bottom lip. “I only meant that for tonight, anything you want is yours; nothing you don’t want.” Looking directly into Merlin’s eyes, he added, “You can say ‘no’ to anything. Understand?”

In answer, Merlin leaned in and touched his lips to Arthur’s again, boldly reaching between their bodies to take Arthur’s hand and press it against the hard bulge in his trousers. Arthur squeezed him there, then began untying the cording that held Merlin’s trousers up. Merlin fell against him, burying his face in Arthur’s neck, his breath coming out in hot, moist puffs against Arthur’s shoulder, and a guttural, “Ahnnghh,” slipping out when Arthur freed his engorged prick from the confines of his trousers and took him in hand with a firm grip.

Arthur turned his face into Merlin’s hair, pushing his nose into the soft, dark strands and breathing in the scent of wood smoke and sweat. He released Merlin, brought his hand to his mouth and spit into his palm, then went back to Merlin’s cock, his twisting strokes slickly smooth now. Merlin gripped Arthur’s shirt with clutching fingers, moaned increasingly louder into Arthur’s neck until Arthur, mindful of Morgana and Gwen, not twenty feet away, breathed out, “Shhh, shhh,” and Merlin, to stifle his moans, opened his mouth wide and latched onto Arthur’s neck, licking and sucking the salty skin there. Slinging his leg over Merlin’s, Arthur moved in closer and doubled his efforts, and in short order, Merlin was whimpering softly and shuddering, his cock spurting, hot and wet over Arthur’s fist.

Arthur held Merlin’s softening prick in his hand, warm and loose, until he felt Merlin’s body go limp, and then released him, wiping his sticky hand against the blankets before wrapping his arm around Merlin’s waist and pulling him close. He nudged and bumped at Merlin’s head and face with his nose until Merlin looked up, eyes at peace for the moment in heavy-lidded bliss, and Arthur kissed him again, a deep, wet kiss that Merlin sank into with pliant willingness. When Arthur felt Merlin’s fingers fumbling with the laces of his breeches, he murmured, “You don’t have to…,” grateful when Merlin only smiled and continued until Arthur’s breeches were gaping open and his cock was freed.

There was a moment of confusion for Arthur when Merlin returned to his own trousers, push-pulling at them until they were around his knees, but all became clear when Merlin took Arthur’s hard prick in hand and moved his hips in closer, close enough to place Arthur’s cock between his thighs. Arthur grunted and his hips jerked forward convulsively, thrusting into the warm, tight space between Merlin’s legs, and Merlin encouraged him, gripping Arthur’s arse and pulling him closer still.

Taking a fistful of Merlin’s hair in hand, Arthur pulled Merlin’s head back until he was looking up at Arthur. “God, Merlin,” Arthur said, his words no more than a shaky breath of air escaping. Merlin smiled and for a fraction of a second, Arthur could’ve sworn he’d seen the color of Merlin’s eyes change, but then Merlin squeezed his eyes tightly shut and surged up to kiss Arthur again, and his thighs felt tighter still around Arthur’s cock, the passage warmly slick somehow, and in the brief moment before Arthur’s brain shut completely down, he wondered if he’d only imagined the flare of gold he’d seen in Merlin’s eyes.

Arthur let himself go, thrusting mindlessly between Merlin’s legs again and again until the heat and friction became an almost unbearable pleasure. When he felt the tell-tale pull and tug, hot and low and throbbing in his belly, felt his balls tighten and his thighs tremble, he reached up to slide his fingers through Merlin’s hair again, this time cupping his hand around the back of Merlin’s skull as he pulled Merlin’s head forward and pressed his mouth, open and gasping, against Merlin’s hair to muffle the moan that slipped free as he reached his release.

After, he sighed heavily, stirring the soft hair that tickled beneath his nose, and held Merlin as his breathing returned to normal, as his heartbeat gradually slowed. “And now you can add the washing of our clothes to your chore list,” Arthur said, and smiled when he heard Merlin’s soft, sleepy laugh.

There was a certain behavior expected now, dictated by the unspoken code between two knights who indulged in this sort of thing. Arthur knew that it was at this point that he should release Merlin, and that they should both roll away from each other and go to sleep, back to back. But Merlin was relaxed and limp where he lay, burrowed in close to Arthur, and was even, in fact, beginning to snore lightly, and Arthur was nearly there himself. Arthur let his cheek rest against the top of Merlin’s head, let his eyes drift closed, and wondered if this wasn’t perhaps an act of tenderness, of intimacy, that went beyond mere comfort or necessity, but in his last moments of wakefulness, Arthur thought only that it was what it was, and saw no need to put a name to it.

~~4~~

There’d been a time when Arthur had accepted, without question, his father’s belief that all sorcery was an evil, that all magic was dangerous, and Arthur had seen plenty of evidence to support that belief. Some days, it seemed there was something of magical origin around every corner, threatening Arthur’s very life and limb.

But in recent months, Arthur had seen and experienced things that made him realize it wasn’t that simple, that there was a balance to magic -- good sorcery as well as bad, light magic as well as dark – just as there was a balance to everything in life. Magic had cured Gwen’s father and magic had seen Arthur safely out of the caves of Balor, and Arthur could find no evil in either.

And magic had helped save them in Ealdor, though Arthur knew it wasn’t Will who’d wielded it. _“I know magic when I see it,”_ he’d said to Merlin, and it was true, he thought, as he lay, propped on one elbow, watching Merlin now. In his sleep, Merlin wore a small, content smile on his face as he murmured strange words, foreign to Arthur’s ears, and though their campfire had long since gone out and the night was a chilly one, they were warm as babes in lambswool blankets as they lay, their bodies surrounded by a glowing orange light that shimmered and wrapped around the two of them, binding them together in what could only be magic.

Arthur raised his hand, meaning to nudge Merlin awake, but stopped, realizing that though he wasn’t afraid of Merlin’s magic in the slightest, Merlin was afraid of his magic being found out. He lowered his hand; he’d let Merlin tell him in his own time, but that day _would_ come. He settled back down once more, beside Merlin, and wondered at the force that had brought Merlin into his life, for Arthur was certain that Merlin’s arrival was no mere coincidence; wondered how it was that he knew, with a deep certainty, that he had nothing to fear from Merlin, though clearly, a powerful magic thrummed through Merlin’s very blood. He knew only that he trusted Merlin as much, perhaps even more at times, than he trusted himself.

Arthur’s eyes began to droop. “There’s something about you, Merlin,” he whispered, his words slurred sleepily, and wrapped in Merlin’s magic, feeling a sense of warmth and safety that he’d never experienced before, Arthur drifted back to sleep.


End file.
